


Damage

by AeonianShark



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Canon Compliant, but some things are a little different, more of a deep dive into canon than an alternate canon, twitter thread
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-23 04:44:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23439229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AeonianShark/pseuds/AeonianShark
Summary: Hank and Connor have clashed throughout their entire partnership. However, when Connor is severely injured while chasing a deviant, Hank sees the android show fear for the first time.
Relationships: Hank Anderson & Connor
Comments: 6
Kudos: 74





	Damage

**Author's Note:**

> A Twitter thread that I wrote bouncing off of @inkysparks idea! Unspooled it and put it here, so I'm sorry if there are typos. Hopefully it flows okay and isn't too bumpy of a ride to read. I apologize for the abrupt end but I had been updating this every day for over a month and I got burnt out and felt I didn't have much more to add without dancing in circles. So I miiiight add more later? But for now, it's just gonna end like that.

Hank’s chest heaved with adrenaline. He had been chasing after Connor since the stupid android had bolted off after their suspect. He had lost sight of him a couple times, but it had ended in an empty parking lot. The suspect, a deviant, was sprawled  
on the pavement, unmoving. Hank approached the body cautiously. Wouldn’t be the first time someone played possum to get an advantage. When he got closer, he could see the hole through the android’s chest, staining their clothes blue with thirium. The LED was gray.  
Hank exhaled weakly with relief, taking the moment to try to catch his breath and stop seeing spots. That was always the downside of adrenaline. Once it was gone, he felt as weak as a noodle for a minute.

“Goddammit,” he sighed, wiping the sweat from his brow.  
Alright, so here was the hound’s kill. Where was the hound...?

“Connor!” Hank called, looking around the lot. He heard a clunk from the dumpsters on the other end of the lot. “...Connor?”

Another thunk, harder this time. Hank groaned and jogged over to the dumpsters.  
“What the hell are youdoing back here?” Hank groused as he came closer. The dumpsters were perpendicular to each other, leaving a gap between them for the workers to stand. And in that gap he saw Connor, the advanced CyberLife prototype, crumpled like bloody paper.  
“Holy shit...What happened?” Hank ran over and knelt next to Connor, looking him over. At first he only saw a bullet hole in his left shoulder. But he noticed Connor clutching his side, so he assumed there was damage there too.  
“I made an error.” Connor sounded oddly calm, detached, considering the trauma done to him. Hank wondered if androids could experience shock. Connor gingerly removed his hand from his side, staring blankly at the blue liquid coating his hand.  
“My filtration system...I have roughly twelve minutes until I will shut down.”

Hank’s stomach twists a little, though he’s not sure why. Connor has “died” and come back before. Why would this be any different?

He tries to tell himself that he doesn’t care, that it’ll be fine.  
Good riddance, honestly. The android had been nothing but a source of consternation from day one.

...But he sees the hollow look in Connor’s eyes and the slight tremor in his fingers and the way his LED is spinning red red red and he knows he can’t just leave him there.  
He’s not sure if he dares to hope that Connor could become deviant after all, but he can’t deny that he’s seen that look of dulled shock on humans many times before.

“Can you stand up?”

Connor looks up at him with a small frown. Instead of answering, he braces the palms  
of his hands against the dumpster behind him and pushes himself up. He grunts as a gush of thirium dribbles onto the pavement and slides back to the concrete with a moan.

“Shit...” he whispered through clenched teeth.

Okay, that seemed like a solid “no”.  
“Alright, c’mere.” Hank wrapped an arm around Connor’s back and the android had the nerve to look indignant.

“Lieutenant, I—“

“Can it,” Hank snapped. “There’s no time for pride right now, alright?” He hooked his other arm under Connor’s legs and lifted.  
It wasn’t the smoothest pick up Hank had ever done, having misjudged Connor’s weight. Connor groaned through his teeth, eyes squeezed shut.

“Fuck, fuck, what do I do?” Hank muttered to himself as he carried Connor bridal style out of the lot. “Dammit, I’m gonna have to go to a  
CyberLife store, aren’t I?”

“No!” Connor stared at him with a slightly wild look in his eyes. “No, just...don’t bother. I’m expendable, it’s okay.”

“It’s okay to let you bleed out in a filthy parking lot?” Hank looked at the android in his arms incredulously.  
“Fuck that. Where’s the nearest CyberLife store?”

Silence stretched on for a few minutes, to the point that Hank assumed he was being ignored. Quietly, Connor finally mumbled the address.  
He shifted Connor in his arms so the android’s head rested on his shoulder. Hank tried to ignore the way Connor whimpered near his ear at being stirred.

“Hey, hang in there, okay?”

Connor’s fingers dug into his coat in response. ~~~~~~~

It hurt.

That alone was alarming. Connor had experienced a certain discomfort from physical trauma, but never more distracting than an alert regarding necessary repairs. The other two times that he had been terminated, they were quick.  
The fall from the roof hadn’t been, but he didn’t even remember hitting the ground. And when Hank shot him in the head at Riverside Park, it had been an instant shutdown.

This was...well, it shouldn’t be but the only word that seemed appropriate was “pain”.  
With every step Hank took, Connor could feel a little more thirium trickle out. He clutched his side again. The action soothed him a little, it felt more comfortable. The only downside was how quickly his hand got soaked.  
He kept his eyes closed as Hank tried to hail a cab. Connor didn’t like it, he decided as Hank carefully seated him. The cab itself wasn’t a problem. Connor had ridden in them before plenty. But it just felt wrong to be trying in vain to not stain the seats.  
He was just a prototype. He wasn’t worth all of this fuss. He had failed and the next Connor would learn from those mistakes. He was just...scrap.

Connor’s eyes snapped open as the thought swirled in his head.

 _I’m nothing. No, I’m not. I’m not alive. But I’m..._  
_Is this all I am? What if there is no Connor after me? What if this is it? There would be nothing. I don’t want that...!_

Connor didn’t even realize he was expressing anything outwardly until he felt Hank’s hand on his shoulder. Disoriented, he jolted and faced him.  
As he came out of his own head, he realized that he had been breathing heavily through his nose and clenching his jaw.

“You okay?” Hank frowned.

Connor huffed and made a conscious effort to school his expression closer to neutrality.  
“I’m fine, Hank. I’m only slowly bleeding out in the back of a cab,” he replied, the edge of sarcasm softened by an undercurrent of an emotion he refused to label.

Hank opened his mouth to speak, closed it, then opened it again.

“I’ve just never seen you act like that.”  
“...Like what?” Hank stared at him, scrutinizing him in a way he wasn’t accustomed to.

“Forget it.”

 _Gladly._  
The ride was difficult. It felt like every pothole in Michigan had a personal vendetta against him, bringing fresh waves of pain with every bump. Connor wished he was on the other side of Hank. He knew the lieutenant was watching his LED.  
When the alert in his HUD showing how much time he had reached around 4 minutes, Connor was starting to feel the effects of the thirium depletion. Everything felt sluggish and frayed. He had never had to desl with it before to this extent.  
His thoughts felt jumbled together like a tangle of yarn. Trying to focus worked for a moment, and then it would fumble. It was the single most frustrating experience he’d had. Connor closed his eyes again, but it didn’t help.  
“Alright, we’re here.” Hank’s tone was strangely soft, gentle. Like he was trying to keep Connor calm. He didn’t know how to feel about that...Indignant? Why would this man who threatened to immolate him a few days ago speak to him like a scared animal?  
“What’s your time at?” Hank carefully helped him out of the cab.

“Three minutes and twelve seconds,” Connor replied. He heard his own voice crack and nearly winced. “Lieutenant, I...I really don’t know about this.”

Hank looked at him as if he had two heads.  
“What the hell are you on about?”

Connor looked at the CyberLife store and felt a tingling dread wash over him.

“I-I don’t...want you to spend money on me.”

Hank raised a brow. “You were hurt on the job, the DPD should cover the repairs.”

/Because I’m their property.../  
Connor took a deep, shuddering breath as he tried to find the words to explain how part of him would prefer to take his chances bleeding out than facing what punishment CyberLife may have.

“...Connor?”

“Please.” Barely a whimper at first, but it grew in volume as Connor  
clutched at Hank’s coat. “Please, please, please...They’re going to decommission me if they find out I failed.”

“Why would they do that? This isn’t your first screw-up, no offense.”

“Because I’m a _prototype_!” Connor growled. “They’ve tested me a few times and I  
fucked up every time. I’m a failure! Please, let’s just...” He trailed off. They both knew there was no alternative and Connor was fadibg fast.

“I won’t let them,” Hank said lowly, giving Connor a reassuring squeeze. “I promise.”  
  
The only good thing about CyberLife, as far as Hank was concerned, was how quickly they worked. It felt like they were barely through the door before the two were being hurried out of the lobby and into the back area.

The sterile environment made Hank's skin crawl.  
It almost felt like a little petty victory to see the trail of thirium Connor was leaving on their pristine floors. Almost.

It was hard to feel anything but a knot in his stomach as they did a rushed patch on a very listless Connor.  
As they hoisted him onto a table, Hank was ushered out of the room. Honestly, that was fine with him. Android or not, he didn't care to be in any setting that felt that close to an operating room. Out in the hallway, it felt more...normal.  
One of the techs stood out there with him to get more information on Connor and what had happened.

"What's his serial number?"

"RK800."

"No, that's his model number. What's his serial number?"

Hank hesitated, trying to remember. "Uh...I'm not sure? 313 somethin'..."  
The tech shrugged it off with what Hank knew was just a customer service smile. "That's alright, the techs inside will be able to tell me." She glanced at her clipboard, then back up at Hank. "So, what happened exactly?"  
Hank crossed his arms and sighed. "I wasn't there when it happened. We were chasing a perp and he got ahead of me. I found him like this."

"Was he pursuing another android?" she asked, jotting down notes.

"Yeah, a deviant."

The tech nodded to herself. "I see.  
And was he successful in his pursuit?" She smiled wryly and chuckled. "I mean, obviously not a /complete/ success if he allowed himself to get damaged like this."

Hank narrowed his eyes. "Yeah, he took 'em down. Right in the chest."  
She must have noticed the shift in his tone, clearing her throat before speaking again.

"My apologies, I know it's not a humorous matter. I just need to gather what intel I can so that it can be reviewed to see what went wrong. Since you weren't there for the event, we'll have  
to look into the RK800's memory to see what happened ourselves."

Hank couldn't help grimacing at the thought. From a logical standpoint, it made sense. Connor's brain was essentially a computer. But the idea felt so invasive.  
He remembered Connor's half-broken pleas to not come here and swallowed. "Is that really necessary? Couldn't you just ask him what happened yourself?"

She looked at him with a curious frown. "I...suppose under normal circumstances, that could be done.  
However, the RK800 has lost quite a bit of thirium--"

"His name's Connor," Hank interrupted.

"Right, Connor," she amended patiently. "Connor has lost quite a bit of thirium and will be in a low power mode until his systems are replenished and refreshed."  
"And how long will that take?"

She looks back at the door thoughtfully. "That depends on what they tell me in there. I'm very sorry for the inconvenience, Lt. Anderson. I understand you're a very busy man. Why don't you wait in the lobby while I go check on things?"

"...Sure."  
As Hank waited in the lobby, he took the opportunity to call Fowler to let him know what was going on. He certainly wasn’t excited about the DPD having to foot the bill, but he didn’t huff and puff about it much.

“You’re safe, right?” Fowler asked.  
“Yeah, Jeffrey, I’m fine,” Hank replied.

“Well, that’s what’s important,” Fowler sighed. “Take the rest of the day off and make sure the android gets fixed.”

It feels a little undeserved considering Hank’s recent track record of attendance, but he’s grateful either way.  
Once that’s taken care of, all there is to do is wait.

Time seems to drag on and Hank finds himself glancing at the clock on the wall frequently. He had no idea how exactly any of this was supposed to work. Connor said his filtration system was damaged. So...like a kidney?  
Hank winced in sympathy, remembering a particularly bad kidney stone he’d had years ago. Not the same as a gunshot, but pretty miserable.

Organ transplant with an android didn’t seem like it could be as complex as with humans, but what did he know? If it was easy,  
no one would shell out thousands to repair their androids.

About 30 minutes later, the tech he spoke to earlier steps back out to him, frowning.

“Lt. Anderson? Can I speak to you in the back for a moment?”  
He nodded slowly, trying to push down his unease. When they were out of the lobby, he turned to her.

"What's going on? Is he fixed?"

The tech sighed, fiddling with her pen. "Well...Temporarily. Patched is probably more accurate." She looks down at her clipboard and flips  
a paper, though Hank suspects she's doing it more to avoid eye contact with him than to actually check anything.

"What the hell do you mean, 'patched'?" Hank demanded.

"The bullet holes weren't particularly difficult to fix with some careful welding, but the damage to the  
RK800--Connor," she corrected hastily. "The damage done to the filtration system isn't so easily fixed. We'll need to replace an entire part, not to mention the wiring, tubes, et cetera. When I say that he's patched, I mean that he's not bleeding out anymore."  
Hank nodded along intently, trying to find the silver lining in the news. It at least sounded like Connor wasn't in dire straits now.

"So, what, you don't have spare parts here?" he asked skeptically. The tech shook her head.  
"Not for that model. He's a prototype. Frankly speaking," she lowered her voice, "I'm not even sure if CyberLife would be willing to make the custom parts for an otherwise disposable model."

Hank's jaw tightened. "He's not disposable."  
She frowned at her clipboard, tapping a box on the sheet with her pen. "Technically speaking, he is," she replied coolly. "His serial number is 313-248-317-53. The very first RK800's serial number ended in a 51. This is the third chassis."  
Hank covered his eyes with his hand and inhaled deeply. One of those terminations had been entirely his fault. And the sad thing is that this morning, he would have been on the tech's side in this. But now?

He exhales slowly, sliding his hand down his face tiredly.  
"So what next? He can't just wait around without a filtration system and he's absolutely not getting scrapped."

For the first time, Hank saw her fully drop the customer service persona as she looked at him sympathetically.  
"I understand that these can be difficult decisions to make. It's very easy to forget that they aren't really human sometimes," she said gently. "They don't feel anything, sir. It's normal to get attached, but it's just not practical to--"  
"He will /not/ be scrapped," Hank growled, leveling the woman with a glare. "I don't give a fuck about 99% of the androids on this planet, but this one is not going to some junkyard in a scrap pile. He's the DPD's property, he's my partner, and I'm not dealing with more bullshit  
than I already have so far today. So...what are my options?"

The tech furrowed her brows and clenched her jaw for a moment. "...Fine, waste your money," she mumbled. She cleared her throat again, speaking in a much colder tone now.  
"Your only other option right now is to have him attached to an external filtration unit until CyberLife is able to create the necessary part."

"An external filtration unit? Like dialysis?"

"Essentially," she replied curtly.  
Hank chewed his lip in thought. "What would that entail?"

"The unit is about the size of a car battery and would be connected to Connor through internal tubes. We /can/ replace those, they aren't model specific. Unfortunately, this would leave a part of his abdomen exposed."  
"But it would keep him--functioning?" Hank nearly tripped on his words and said "alive". A force of habit, he told himself. Until he knew things certainly, he shouldn't get his hopes up.

"Yes. With how much thirium that was lost, I would say it will take roughly 14 to 16 hours  
for the new thirium to circulate fully through his systems. Until then, he'll be in a low power mode if not in total stasis," she explained. "We can keep him here during that period if you would prefer not to leave him at the DPD."

Hank looked at the door, then at the ground.  
"Can I see him first?" He had to bite his tongue to keep from saying why. He already knew clear as day that CyberLife would likely never see personhood in Connor, and thus no reason to clear a treatment with him. But there was no way that Hank could bring himself to make a choice  
like this on his behalf after seeing the panic that even being brought here gave him.

The tech shifted uneasily. "He's not able to communicate right now, if that's what you're wanting. It's simpler for androids to be in stasis during repairs and troubleshooting."  
"That's fine," Hank shook his head. "I just want an idea of what we're lookin' at here."

"Fair enough. I can show you the external unit while we're back there, too." Hank nodded but didn't have much else to say, so he let her lead him back to the room where Connor rested.  
As they stepped into the back room, Hank's eyes zeroed in on Connor. He looked...peaceful, at least. A small relief, even if he had to be unconscious to get it. The rest of him was--well, it was bad. But not quite as bad as Hank had envisioned.  
He couldn't even tell where on Connor's shoulder the bullet hole had been, not without his jacket on to show it. It was his abdomen that made Hank grimace. On his side, there was a panel open displaying a bunch of wires. Some were hanging loosely. He assumed those were the ones  
that needed to be replaced. One would think that the wires hanging out would be more of a stark reminder that Connor was not a human, but Hank couldn't help but translate it to being able to see someone's innards in his mind.  
The tech showed him the external filtration unit and explained in great detail how it would work, showing him where things would be hooked up and how they would check to make sure it was all functioning properly. Hank did his best to pay attention and not think about the  
unconscious android behind them.

"If there's no further questions, then all we need to do is discuss arrangements," the tech smiled. "Would you prefer to keep the android here or bring him back to the DPD?"

Hank frowned in thought.  
There was no way he would take Connor back to the department in such a delicate state. He wouldn't put it past Gavin or someone equally dickish to "accidentally" damage him when he couldn't fight back. But the idea of leaving him here to have his memories probed, alone, and  
clearly frightened but doing his best to mask it...No, that wouldn't do either.

"How about I take him back to my house?"

The tech looked at him strangely. "Your...home? Why?"

"I don't really think that's your business to know," Hank replied gruffly.  
"I live alone, I have the space, I'd feel better if he was around where I could keep an eye on him."

She glanced him over, probably weighing the pros and cons of having Hank snap at her again. Finally she sighed. "Sure, whatever floats your boat.  
Just know that if the part isn't ready in three days, you'll need to contact us so that we can instruct you on how to check that the unit is still working as it should. Not that I predict there should be any problems, but just to be safe," she added.  
Hank has to fight his kneejerk reaction to the idea of having this android who, up until an hour or two ago, had been nothing but a pain in his ass, staying in his home for three days. Whatever the trouble that came from it, he felt he owed it to him. Not like the DPD or feds  
gave a shit about whether or not he made it out of this. "Yeah, fine," Hank waved his hand dismissively. "Will do."

"Alright then, so we'll just get those wires replaced, hook him up, top off his thirium, and he should be good to go!"  
And with that, he was being escorted back out to the lobby. The receptionist gave him a business card with their contact info, which he politely thanked her for before taking a seat. He could feel quite the headache blooming from behind his eyes from all this shit.  
  
Coming out of stasis was usually something that happened all at once, as if he’d blinked. His processors must still be sluggish because Connor feels it creep on him for a few seconds before he’s able to open his eyes at all.  
His HUD has several alerts for him, the most important ones being in regards to his sub-optimal filtration and being low power. For the first time in Connor’s fairly short existence, he felt utterly exhausted.  
“Connor?”

He turns his head slightly to acknowledge the tech’s voice.

“Don’t try to speak, you’ll just strain what little reserves you have.” Her smile and tone was friendly enough, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. He did not like the idea of being silent.  
There was a strange discomfort in his side and his eyes drifted down to look. Connor’s eyes widened as he saw the large tubes connecting him to some strange machine. Perhaps that had something to do wuth the filtration alert?  
“Ah, yes,” the tech continued. “You’re going to need a custom part made. Until then, you will be attached to this external unit. You won’t be able to run optimally until we can replace the part, but no worries. Sounds like your friends at the DPD will put the pressure on,” she  
snorted derisively.

Connor frowned in confusion. What friends...? As far as he could tell, the officers at the DPD tolerated him at best. Gavin had punched him and made threats, Hank /shot/ him and made threats, Fowler viewed him as an inconvenience.  
The only one he could think of was Officer Miller, but he couldn’t imagine she was referring to him.

/Maybe Hank yelled at her to get it done so he had less paperwork,/ Connor thought sourly. /Odd to mistake that for friendship./  
“We’ve gotten your thirium replenished, but it will take time to reach your systems properly so I’d advise you to move as little as possible until tomorrow. Hmm, what else?” She tapped her pen against her lips. “Oh, right! We did access your memory while you were in stasis.”  
“What?” Connor croaked, looking back up at her.

“Shh,” she scolded. “I’m sure you’re shut down when that’s happened before, but we needed record of what went wrong since there was no witness.”

Connor felt his gut clench. The only consolation was that he knew if they  
were going to decommission him over this, they would have already.

“Now, per the Lieutenant’s request, you will be staying at his home until you are functional again.” Connor’s brow furrowed. That was not exactly comforting.  
“I’ve given him details on potential maintenance, and of course you know how to access that information as well,” she smiled. “So in a few minutes, we’ll help get you situated for transport. Do you understand?”

Connor nodded and closed his eyes.

 _...Fuck._  
  
Leaving the facility was a blur for Connor. While the pain wasn't as intense as earlier, it took too much energy to keep forcing his expression into neutrality. They helped him into a wheelchair (He supposed they had it for androids with missing legs) to get him out  
to Hank's car. The filtration unit wheeled next to him and he watched it resentfully. He felt pathetic. He certainly hadn't wanted to be terminated, but this felt like a cruel stab at his pride.

Hank helped him into the backseat since there wasn't room for the unit up front.  
"Is that comfortable enough?" he asked, moving some trash aside that had accumulated in the back. "Sorry 'bout the mess, it's been a while since anyone rode back here."

"...It's fine," Connor replied quietly. "I'm going into stasis for the ride to reserve power."  
Hank looked him over once, then nodded and shut Connor's door. Connor closed his eyes and willingly let himself drift off.

He awoke again sometime later from Hank lightly shoving his shoulder. “Rise and shine,” he grunted.

Connor looked up at him with puppy eyes. “Lieutenant, that’s the shoulder that was damaged.”

For a second, Hank hesitated and Connor almost smirked.  
Hank rolled his eyes. “Nice try, jackass, I can see the hole in your shirt’s on the other side.”

Connor half-heartedly shrugged. The lieutenant sighed and shook his head before helping Connor out of the car.  
“You think you can walk?” Hank raised a brow. Connor thought to try, then remembered the shooting pain this morning from trying to stand on his own. Even at better status, the unit was cumbersome.

“I need help,” he admitted through a tight jaw.  
Hank snorted a little laugh. “Never thought I’d hear you admit that.” Connor certainly did not pout. “Alright, lean against my shoulder,” he said in a gentler tone as he wrapped an arm around Connor’s waist.  
To Hank’s credit, he doesn’t rush Connor along and even helps maneuver the hefty filtration unit. He helps Connor lay down on the couch—fighting off an eager Sumo the whole way—before heading back to his bedroom.  
Connor looks around the living room and while the memories he’d made here were mostly unpleasant, there was a certain...comfort to it. Homey is the word Connor feels would be used. A little messy but not disastrous. Frankly, Connor would take it over the white sterility of  
CyberLife any day.

He shifted on the couch as he heard Hank returning, drawing his knees up closer to his chest.

“It’s not much, but I have a couple spare blankets,” Hank said a bit sheepishly. Connor could easily guess Hank wasn’t the type to have house guests often.  
“Kinda limited on pillows, but I grabbed one off my bed.”

Connor stared at him in wary confusion. “Lieutenant, I don’t require comforts like a human,” he frowned. “This isn’t necessary.”

“Just take it, fuck’s sake,” Hank groaned. “For my sake.”  
Connor bit down on his desire to snark at him. They usually had no reserves about sniping at one another, but it was clear that today had shifted things. Begrudgingly, Connor felt indebted to Hank for being the one person to give a crap about him in spite of everything.  
So he let Hank drape a couple blankets over him and prop a pillow behind him. The slight elevation would help his circulation anyway, and the blankets were a very interesting and pleasant texture. He pulled them up to his chin and closed his eyes.  
  
Hank felt a small bit of satisfaction seeing Connor relent to being comforted. There wasn't a hell of a lot he could do to make the android actually feel any better, but it was strangely endearing to see Connor have gone from the usual way he acted--factual, determined,  
stubborn as fuck--to actually pulling an old blanket up to his chin and cuddling into it. To call today weird would be a hell of an understatement.

He watched as Connor's LED went into its stasis cycle before shuffling off to the bathroom. Once the adrenaline of the afternoon  
had worn off, all he was left with was a heavy body and a headache that made his eyes throb. He always kept some ibuprofen by his bathroom sink for those nasty hangovers and the aches and pains that came more and more with age. He popped two in his mouth and chased them  
with a glass of water.

It wasn't very long until Sumo nudged his way into the bathroom since Hank didn't bother closing the door all the way. Hank smiled at his old friend and reached out a hand to rub between his ears.

"Hey, buddy," he said quietly.  
Sumo eagerly butted his head against Hank's hand, panting lazily and tilting his head up. Hank chuckled, getting the hint. "Alright, alright, ya big lug," he cooed as he scratched the St. Bernard's chin and neck. Sumo's rump began to wiggle with how hard he was wagging his tail.  
It thumped against the counter under the sink and Hank shushed him, gently pushing down on his back so he would sit down.

He let his mind wander as as the dog basked in his attention.

There was really no way to know how long Connor would be here.  
The only plus side he could really think of about this arrangement is that an android really didn't need much in the way of accommodations. No food, no water, didn't even really need his own room. Hank had a feeling that even if he offered a space to Connor, the android would  
decline. He was pretty sure the only reason he let himself indulge in the blankets was because he's worn down that he just doesn't give enough of a fuck. But he'd be lying if he said he didn't kind of enjoy seeing that side of the deviant hunter.  
For the past couple months, and especially the past few weeks, he and Connor had always balanced on a razor's edge. Connor would get fed up with Hank's apparent lack of dedication, Hank would get pissed off at Connor's, well, /everything/.  
They threw barbs each other's way, and some of Connor's were particularly under the belt sometimes. ("I have a reason to live. I guess that's the difference between us.") Hank was not a genuinely violent man by nature, but he couldn't imagine he came off any other way to Connor.  
And until today, he had been fine with that. If people disliked him, it meant they left him alone. But he and Connor couldn't afford to leave each other alone. Like it or not, they were stuck together through this until further notice. And Hank had just invested himself into it  
even further by housing the poor broken bastard.

He sighed and leaned his head forward against Sumo's forehead. Sumo huffed and jerked his head aside so that he could lick at Hank's face. In spite of himself, he smiled. This was one reason that he had always liked dogs.  
Sumo had always been very intuitive and there to love on anybody who needed it. There were many days where Hank needed that kind of unconditional support.

And maybe, after seeing the first cracks of the facade coming through, that was what Connor needed right now too.  
_If_ he was becoming deviant, then Hank wanted to encourage that. Not just for his own selfish reasons of not wanting to be stuck with such a pompous stick in the mud (hell, maybe that would still be his personality), but also because he felt like...maybe it made it easier.  
Maybe it was just easier to accept some of the terrible things that Connor had done if he was able to dismiss it as being like a separate person. He supposed that was awfully selfish, too.

Still, no matter how shitty some of Connor's behavior had been thus far,  
Hank firmly believed that damn near everyone deserved to feel free. So if there was any way that Hank could nudge that along...well, he would see what happened.

"C'mon, Sumo, let's go for a walk."

At the magic word, Sumo let out a loud BOOF and Hank  
hastily shushed him, glancing out in the living room. If it had disturbed Connor, he couldn't tell. "Gotta be quiet, boy," he scolded in a whisper. "C'mon, let's go."

After the stress of the day, he had a feeling that he and Connor both could use the space to think.  
  
Connor is pulled out of stasis by Sumo’s startling bark, but he keeps his eyes closed. The faintest smile tugs at his lips thinking of the huge, excited dog scrabbling at the floor.

When he heard Hank leaving the bathroom, he tilted his head against the couch cushion  
to obscure his LED, not wanting Hank to notice he was awake. He waited and listened to Sumo’s panting and the jangling of his leash while Hank murmured playful words to him.

Not that he had ever suspected Hank was unkind to his dog, but it was a small  
comfort to know that he managed to be gentle and light with him in spite of a shitty mood.

Connor felt a poignant ache in his chest that made him want to cover his face.

What was it like to not be utterly alone in the world by design?  
He knew that Hank felt lonely too, but from Connor’s standpoint, at least he did have people who cared. If absolutely nothing else, he had Sumo to come home to.

What did Connor have? /Who/ did Connor have?  
He tried to bot think more on it as Hank and Sumo left. Slowly, he cracked his eyes open. He was definitely still in discomfort, but that was mostly bearable. He was still sluggish, but it was more in how heavy his body felt than in his mind.  
He could deal with that. At least, he was fairly sure he could. There had never been a need to be benched like this. Androids were generally easy to repair. But then, most prototypes weren’t leaping from roof to roof and getting into shootouts.  
He wasn’t quite sure why CyberLife hadn’t just let him be scrapped, really. Even if they hadn’t had another chassis ready, well...failed prototypes were nothing new. He could parse out the logic but it still put a cold pit in his stomach.  
Connor never wanted to feel so disoriented and out of control again. His memory felt patchy from the cab ride onwards. But he remembered the biggest wound to his pride. He remembered begging. He knew he had slurred a plea to not be taken to the store.  
Indirectly asking not to be taken to his assumed deactivation. Hank would never take him seriously again. He would laugh him off, dismiss him, mock him just as others did. Whatever respect he’d earned with Hank, it was gone now.  
After all, why should he be taken seriously after such a show of weakness?

His eyes opened slightly as another thump of fear struck his belly. Eventually, he would have to face Amanda about this. This wasn’t his biggest screw-up since he did get the deviant this time.  
But he had also incapacitated himself and that would halt the investigation. He could already hear Amanda’s disappointment. He pushed his face fully into the couch cushion and let out a long, quiet moan.  
It was one thing to think himself a failure, but the idea of her thinking the same thing made him want to shrivel up. He pronised her he would solve this case and he was letting her down. When would the other shoe drop...?  
After about 30 minutes of lying there with nothing but the idle hum of the filtration unit to listen to, Connor started to doubt his ability to handle this bedridden state after all. He itched to get back to the case. The nervous energy seemed to crawl through him.  
His mind kept going back to the deviant he shot down in the lot. It bothered him not knowing if the body was still in the lot or if it had been taken to be scrapped. Had Hank reported it to his superiors? He didn't want to think that a potential piece of evidence  
had been neglected or even lost due to his own negligence. And knowing that he couldn't just haul ass to go investigate for himself did not deter every circuit in him from sparking with the desire to do just that.  
He knew that it would be better for him to just go back into stasis and let this time period of sluggishness pass. There wasn't much else he could do. When his thirium was circulating properly, it wouldn't fix how annoying being attached to the filter was, but at least he  
wouldn't feel quite so helpless. Vulnerability was something that he was never meant to truly experience, only express through his social programming when necessary. A useful tool for making others underestimate him. It was never meant to be a sincere emotion. Nothing was.  
He closed his eyes and tried to let himself slip into stasis again...but every time, it was like his brain panicked and stopped itself. He couldn't seem to relax. He did an internet search mentally for ways to calm down. Humans and androids obviously didn't function in the same  
way, but perhaps some of CyberLife's integration methods would allow a similar effect.

Several results were unhelpful or simply not doable right now. Go out in nature? No. Write down his thoughts? Hell no. Visualize your calm? He wasn't even sure what that meant.  
It wasn't until he saw an article about grounding techniques that anything seemed too promising. They seemed to focus on senses in particular, and that was something that he knew he could use. Inhale, hold it, exhale. So Connor tried it. He inhaled deeply and did feel  
some satisfaction as his mind went to analyzing what he could smell. The pillow from Hank's bed smelled a bit like what must be his shampoo and a slightly stale musk. The couch smelled mostly like Sumo. The blankets didn't smell like much of anything.  
Faded laundry detergent, if he had to assume. They had probably been left alone in a closet for some time.

He tried other methods from the article (he particularly enjoyed running his sensitive fingers over the textures of the blankets and couch) but found smell to be  
the most soothing. So he buried his face in the gap between the couch cushion and Hank's pillow, inhaling the scent and feeling his chest lighten. Mahogany, lavender, Hank's natural scent, and the slight smell of Sumo. The smells were warm, comforting in their own way.  
He still had a hard time associating Hank with comfort, but Sumo was an easier task. He wished the dog was here, if only to give him another physically grounding sensation through petting him.

But after several minutes of deep, quiet breaths, Connor finally entered stasis.  
  
The skies had gone dreary since this morning. Hank hoped that didn't mean it was going to start raining while he was out. He usually checked the forecast this time of year as it got colder out, but he'd been a little distracted today.  
Rain wasn't too bad, but still...fingers crossed.

Sumo walked slightly ahead of Hank at a leisurely pace, happy to just be outdoors. He always enjoyed his walks and Hank felt immensely guilty when they missed one. Hank wasn't exactly happy right now, but he did feel relieved.  
He liked getting out of the house for more than just work or drinking. It just happened less and less lately.

Hank let his mind wander as they walked, his free hand shoved in his coat pocket to try to keep warm. He wished he had thought to grab a pair of gloves on the way out.  
He still really wasn't quite sure what to make of this whole situation with Connor. On the one hand, neither he nor the android could deny the display of genuine emotion that Connor had shown today. Well, he supposed Connor would /try/ to, but it would be bullshit.  
Hank had pointed out once to Connor that androids don't feel fear. "Deviants do," had been his curt response. He remembered the way Connor groaned and clutched at his coat in pain. In fear.

He wanted to know more about how this whole deviancy thing even worked.  
They had only been able to interrogate one android so far, and while they had gotten the murder confession out of him, there really hadn't been the thought to ask what he was experiencing. Everything had still been objective-focused. Get the confession, dispose of the android.  
The woman with the child, the deviant on the roof, the Tracis at the Eden Club, even the deviant that Connor hunted down today in that parking lot. None of them had so far been able to tell them anything about deviancy. He doubted Connor would even have cared to ask.  
If Hank had ever brought it up, he probably would have fixed him with that slightly disapproving frown and told him that it wasn't important. Connor rarely appeared to consider how another person or android may be feeling beyond a very shallow understanding.  
If you told him you were sad, he would know what that meant, but the issue was the lack of empathy. And empathy was a strange thing. Even some humans lacked it. It made sense in a way that an android could develop empathy over time. But that required deviancy.  
Connor was still doggedly following CyberLife's orders, even at risk of his own life. Maybe the implication of that hadn't really sunk in for the android until now. Maybe it still hadn't. He was so used to Connor's flippant dismissal and accusing Hank of projecting onto him that  
it absolutely wouldn't shock him if he continued on like that. But it was hard to go through a traumatic event like that and come out the same as you were before. So even if he wasn't truly deviant yet, whatever that even entailed, the evidence was there that some kind of  
change had been going on with Connor.

He thought back to that drunken night in Riverside Park, after they had wrapped things up at the Eden Club. After he watched Connor shoot one of the Tracis in cold blood and witnessed the other commit suicide.  
It had been a miserable night all-around and he had been roiling with anger and a hangover by the end of it. He remembered being furious at how detached Connor seemed from it all. Those two girls were in love and had died, at least partially by his hands, and yet  
there he was discussing the subject of deviancy as if it was a complicated math problem. Some of the words exchanged were fuzzy, but he wasn't sure he would ever forget asking Connor at gunpoint what would happen if he pulled the trigger.  
And the way the android's facade seemed to crack, just for a moment, as he looked up at Hank and quietly said, "Nothing. There would be nothing."

He had seen the look in his eyes, heard the tone in his voice, and he'd still pulled the trigger.  
There was no excuse for it really. But he'd been too drunk and angry to care whether or not Connor was out of his life for good. He had just wanted a source to take out his impotent rage.

Maybe it was hypocritical of him to be mad at Connor for acting detached when  
Hank himself had calmly sat down with a beer after shooting his partner square between the eyes. Not seeing him for what he was--an android on the precipice of an existential crisis--wasn't a good reason to have done any of that.

And maybe that was part of why he offered his  
home to Connor so willingly. He couldn't change the past, but maybe he could still be here for the future in some capacity. Maybe if they both made an effort, something positive could still come from them knowing each other.  
Hank felt a cold drop of water on his hand and looked up just as rain started sprinkling down. "Go fuckin' figure," he muttered. "Alright Sumo, let's get home. I don't need you stinkin' like wet dog all night."

Sumo panted happily, trotting ahead without a care in the world.  
Hank followed, a little envious of the simplicity of a dog's life.  
  
A roll of thunder wakes Connor. He turns his head a little but doesn’t lift it, listening to the hard tapping of rain on the windows.

He wonders if Hank and Sumo are stuck out in the rain. Many places didn’t tolerate dogs indoors, almost as many as androids.  
Did dogs like the rain? Or did they run from it like people? He hoped Sumo wasn’t bothered by it. He didn’t know Sumo that well yet but judging by the dog’s reaction to Connor breaking into the house, not much bothered him.  
He didn’t know how much time passed listening to the rain, but after a while Connor heard the door knob turn.

He sat up as the door opened, wincing at the tubes tugging at his side.  
“Goddammit,” Hank grumbled, shouldering the door open while trying to hold Sumo back. “Sumo, sit!”

The slippery St. Bernard shoved his way past Hank’s legs and nearly knocked his owner over. “Sumo, get back here!” Hank barked, tugging on the leash.  
“I don’t need ya soaking the floor!”

Connor couldn’t help but smile a little as he watched Hank attempt to wrangle the huge dog. As soon as the leash was released from his collar, Sumo barked happily and wriggled from Hank’s grasp.  
The dog noticed Connor and made a beeline for the couch. Connor’s preconstructions were still a bit slow and so he was just short of pulling his feet out of the way as the wet dog leaped up next to him. He panted in Connor’s stunned face for a moment before shaking vigorously.  
Connor threw his arms in front of his face as water splashed him, a little startled laugh fluttering out before he could stop himself.

“Aw, Jesus, Sumo!” Hank groaned as he hung up his coat. “When I said don’t mess up the floor, that didn’t mean you could mess up the couch  
instead!”

Connor turned to look at Hank and the two froze when they caught each other’s eyes. The smile dropped from Connor’s face and he slowly lowered his arms.

“...Welcome back, Lieutenant.”

Hank was giving him an odd look and the prolonged silence made Connor feel  
like he was the one being analyzed. “Lieutenant?”

Hank broke eye contact and cleared his throat, pushing his wet hair out of his face. “Yeah, uh, thanks,” he grunted. He looked over at Sumo with a sigh. “Sumo, get down from there.”

“I don’t mind,” Connor said hastily.  
“He’s not bothering me.”

Hank opens his mouth like he means to say something, then closes it and waves his hand dismissively. “Fuck it, I’ll have to clean up the mud anyway.”

Connor wanted to offer to clean it himself, but he reminded himself that his current limitations  
would likely make it even more troublesome for Hank.

“Well as nice as nature’s surprise shower was, I think I’d like a real one with soap and hot water,” Hank yawned. “If the oaf starts bugging you, just give him a little shove and he’ll get down.”  
Connor watched as Hank walked back to his bedroom for a change of clothes, only snapping out of his daze when Sumo settled on top of him and licked his face. He looked at the dog’s big, brown eyes and smiled fondly, gently placing his hands on either side of his head.  
“Good boy,” he whispered. When he heard the bathroom door close, he wrapped his arms around Sumo and buried his face in the dog’s wet, shaggy neck. “Good boy,” he repeated, committing the smell of wet dog to his memory.  
When Sumo was satisfied that Connor was covered in enough kisses, he settled down at the other end of the couch with his head on Connor's hip. Connor's shirt was clinging to him a bit from the dog's fur but he didn't mind. He did feel a little bad about the wet spot Sumo was  
leaving, though.

He leaned back against the pillow and scratched Sumo's ears, listening to the shower run. What had that look Hank had given him been about? His kneejerk instinct was thinking that perhaps he had done something wrong. But Hank wasn't one to keep his opinions to  
himself in Connor's experience. From the moment they had met, the man had made it crystal clear that he resented Connor as an entity and having to work together. So if he was angry, he was sure he would have gotten some choice words.  
But if he wasn't angry, then what was it...? Connor closed his eyes, brow furrowed in frustration. He despised uncertainty. His existence until recently had been very cut and dry. Mission assigned, success or failure resulted. Rinse, repeat.  
However, since being assigned to Hank, things had steadily become more...complicated. And Hank was utterly unpredictable sometimes. Just the fact that he was lying on Hank's couch instead of in a white room at CyberLife was something that he would never have predicted.  
He wasn't even sure he could see Hank's reasoning. Guilt or obligation made sense in regards to most human behavior, but that was assuming the person in question didn't hate the other. He knew Hank despised him. There had been a few moments where it seemed like  
maybe things were going to improve--their lunch at Chicken Feed stood out in particular--but it became clear that it was practically impossible to please Hank and still accomplish his mission. It hadn't even been very long ago that Hank's blue eyes had  
burned with fury at Connor's placid demeanor, a shaking hand pointing a gun at him. And Connor had called his bluff, because even with the sinking realization that destruction could be the end of everything, he had been more confident that CyberLife would destroy him than  
Hank. He had been wrong.

It didn't change the fact that CyberLife would absolutely decommission him if he wasn't able to get back to this case as soon as possible, though. And in the meantime, he was at the mercy of Hank Anderson. In spite of the dog half-asleep on him, Connor  
felt himself tense a little as the shower turned off. He buried his fingers in Sumo's fur, rubbing his neck as he tried to vent the nervous energy pent up. He had questions to ask, and he knew from the pit in his stomach that Hank would, too.  
  
When Hank emerged from the bathroom, he glanced over at the couch. Connor was leaning back with his eyes closed, but he could tell he was still conscious by the way his hand slowly rubbed Sumo.

If he ignored the fact that tubes were hanging out of Connor's side  
to connect him to android dialysis, it was kind of a sweet image. He hesitated in the hallway for a second, not wanting to disturb Connor's peace. But if he was awake, obviously Connor already knew he was there.

He cleared his throat to announce his presence anyway.  
Connor opened his eyes and turned his head to glance over at him. "Hello, Lieutenant." His expression was hard to read. Hank rolled his eyes.

"Look, you're laying on my couch and snuggled up with my dog. You can just call me Hank."

Connor's eyes flickered over to Sumo  
and his hand stilled. Sumo cocked his head against Connor's hip and sighed contentedly. Connor remained silent.

Trying to push past the awkward atmosphere, Hank walked behind the couch to go sit in his chair. He noticed Connor watching him like a hawk, shoulders tensed.  
Hank sat down in his chair with a quiet sigh, resting his hands on his knees.

"Do you, uh, need anything?" he asked. Connor raised an eyebrow. "I mean, I know you don't eat or drink or whatever, but ya know..."

Connor's expression remained slightly incredulous.  
"You've done enough," was his cool reply. Hank's brows furrowed a little at the tone. Was Connor upset with him for not being there when he was shot?

"What's that supposed to mean?" Hank asked.

Connor looked down at Sumo and resumed scratching the dog's ears.  
"It means that you've done enough," he replied slowly, as if holding Hank's hand through understanding him. "You don't have to pretend to care for me out of some sense of duty."

Hank gaped at him, a little taken aback. "You think I'd bother faking giving a shit?"  
When Connor's eyes looked back up at him, his face was calm but his eyes were piercing. "I have no reason to believe that any gesture of care would be genuine on your part." His voice was calm but there was an undertone of hurt that still came through.  
Before, Hank would have just assumed it was part of his social programming. But now, he was wondering just how much of that had been authentic all along. "I don't know why you chose to bring me here, but I can only assume it was out of misplaced guilt. You can stop now."  
Hank narrowed his eyes. Connor's tone was dismissive and the android would no longer meet his eyes. But these kinds of conversations were not unfamiliar to him.

Hank had said almost the same things to people in his life when his depression had been at its worst.  
It had been difficult to believe that anybody genuinely cared for him when he was in that low state. And while their situations were certainly different, he suspected that Connor's self-worth was just as terrible. He had even described himself as disposable earlier.  
"Connor," Hank said lowly, "if I really didn't care about you, do you really think I would have bothered with any of this?"

Connor's eyes bored into him but he didn't reply. Hank leaned back in his chair and scrubbed his face with his hand.  
"I'm not gonna lie, I do feel guilty. Human or not, partners are supposed to watch each other's backs and I've done a real shit job of that." He heard Connor snort quietly.

" _But_ ," Hank paused to emphasize, "I'm not doing all of this out of guilt."  
Connor's expression shifted to something a little more vulnerable. More openly wary than skeptical now. He sat up a little more. "...Then what?"

Hank stared at the floor for a moment as he tried to think of how to phrase it. "Let me ask you something first. And don't bother  
trying to bullshit me on this, okay? Just be honest with me." _Trust me._

Connor curled on himself very slightly. They both knew what was coming. Eventually, the android nodded in consent.

"When you got shot today, you felt pain, didn't you?"  
Connor's gaze immediately dropped and he turned his head to hide his LED. After a moment of silence, Hank continued.

"And that scared you...didn't it?" he asked gently.  
The stretch of silence was uncomfortable, but Hank forced himself to be patient. This was a delicate thing for Connor and he was worried that if he pushed too much, he would just retreat back into himself and never move forward.

Connor rested his temple against the couch  
cushion with a shaky exhale. "...Yes," he replied quietly, his voice strained. Hank's expression softened with sympathy.

" _That_ is why I'm helping you."

Connor didn't lift his head, but his eyes looked over at Hank, cautious.  
"...I know you hate me, Hank." It was the first time he'd used Hank's name since Connor's frayed sarcasm in the cab. It felt like a tiny step of progress, a centimeter closer to vulnerability.

"I never hated you, Connor," Hank scratched at his neck self-consciously.  
"But it felt like you made pissing me off your favorite hobby, and, well..." Hank paused, thinking of something he had learned in grief counseling. "When you're angry at the world, sometimes you just wanna pick a target to take it out on.  
And you made it real easy to do that." He crossed his arms, finding it difficult to maintain eye contact as he spoke. "You did some really shitty things. And I'm still pissed off about 'em. I'm never gonna forget you shooting that girl at the Eden Club."  
A shadow passed over Connor's face for a moment. Maybe he regretted that night just as much as Hank did. "But...I did some bad shit, too. And if you asked me a couple days ago if I would ever have done this for you, I would've said fuck no and thought they were crazy.  
But I saw a change in you today...And I know that no matter what you tell yourself, you felt it." Connor's gaze drifted to the filtration unit with a pinched expression.

"You were scared to die. I promised you I wouldn't let CyberLife hurt you, and I meant it."  
  
Connor couldn't bring himself to meet Hank's eyes. He hated this feeling. The lack of pretense, not even allowing him dignity in his defeat. Insecure and terrified. Even if Hank was telling the truth and never turned him over, if CyberLife realized what was wrong with him  
then surely that would be the end of it. At best, they would swiftly deactivate him. At worst, they might keep him conscious and use their disposable prototype as a guinea pig to see firsthand what made him tick.

His thirium pump pounded in his chest and he knew without  
seeing that his LED was red. He turned his face into the couch more and closed his eyes. He wanted to hide. He didn't want to deal with any of this or anyone. He only realized he'd started clenching his fingers when Sumo gave a concerned whine.  
Keeping his eyes closed, he moved his hands away from the dog and covered the rest of his face with one arm. Connor felt overwhelmed with shame and fear, crashing over him in waves. He wasn't deviant, he knew he wasn't, so why was he feeling these things?  
"Connor?"

The softness in Hank's tone made Connor's face twist up.

"I'm not a deviant," he choked out, his voice a little muffled. "I'm not...!" He was so distracted by trying to keep his stress level lowered that he didn't hear Hank move closer to him.  
Connor's shoulder flinched a little when Hank's hand rested on him.

"It's okay if you are, you know," Hank replied. Connor stilled, not even simulating breathing. He didn't lower his arm, but he did turn his head slightly. Just enough for him to see the red glow  
of his LED against the couch cushion.

"I'm /not/," he seethed. "I self-test every day. If I was a deviant, I would know."

"Would you?" Hank arched a brow.

Connor twisted his shoulder out from under Hank's hand with a frustrated sound, inhaling sharply as he felt  
the tubes tug in his side again.

"Hey, careful--"

"I know what I am, Lieutenant," Connor spat. Thirium rushed through him and he was sure if he was human, his face would be flushed red. "And I am /not/ a deviant. What I experienced earlier was a series of  
overwhelming errors brought on by excessive thirium loss. Nothing more."

This felt better. He could see Hank's pulse tick up and he felt more in control again. He refused to be the weak one.

"You need to quit deluding yourself about who I am, for both our sake."  
Hank stared at him, stunned. His cheeks flushed and the man's face twisted into a scowl.

"I told you no fuckin' lying," he growled. Connor met his gaze resolutely, not betraying the way his stomach sank a little in response.

Hank shook his head and stepped away from Connor.  
"What the fuck ever. Keep up your stupid little charade if you want. But sooner or later," Hank jabbed his finger in Connor's direction, "you're gonna have to fess up to all this shit and the longer you put it off, the worse it's gonna get. You're not foolin' me."  
Connor swallowed but otherwise didn't respond. He wasn't even sure of what to say to any of that. After a long moment of the two just glaring at each other, Hank sighed and his shoulders sagged. It was like someone had scooped the anger out of him.  
"Goodnight, Connor," he muttered, turning to walk down the hall. Sumo lifted his head as his owner walked away, whining softly. The door slammed and Connor almost winced at the sound.

Connor looked down at the St. Bernard and felt his own anger dissipate like fog.  
He sighed and, remembering Hank's earlier words, gave the big dog a gentle shove. Sumo turned to look at him in confusion.

"Sumo, down," Connor commanded quietly, pushing on him again. It felt wrong to let the dog lay with him, knowing what he'd been putting his owner through.  
Hank should be the one he was laying with, and if he couldn't lay with Hank right now, then he at least shouldn't be with Connor.

Eventually, Sumo relented and slid off the couch with a huff. Connor watched as he walked out to the kitchen and listened to the crunch of kibble.  
Everything felt too quiet now. Even hearing the rain outside did little to alleviate the tension he felt. All he could think to do for now was try to go back into stasis. He had wasted energy with his anger and he felt truly exhausted now that he was calming down.  
Before slipping into stasis again, the last thought he had was that he should have told Hank that he never hated him either.  
  
When Connor awoke in the morning, it was still raining. Very little light made it past the closed blinds in the living room. Everything was tinged a bluish gray.

It was the first time Connor hadn’t woken up to bright light.

It was nice.  
He actually found he felt a little better overall. The persistent exhaustion of the previous day was almost completely gone. Being connected to the filtration unit, however, was a heavy reminder of what was wrong.  
He sat up on the couch with a sigh and realized he could smell coffee. Connor looked in the kitchen and could see a mug sitting on the table, steam rising in curls.

Connor startled a little when he heard the toilet flush.  
So Hank was awake? He checked the time, surprised. It was 9:25 AM. He couldn’t recall what time it was last night when Hank had stormed off to his room but it certainly defied his expectations for Hank to be up this early.  
He’d been a little better about attendance lately, but still...

When the bathroom door opened, Hank paused as he noticed Connor. The two stared at each other for a moment. Connor wasn’t sure what to say. He knew he should apologize, if only to smooth things over  
for the sake of their work. But he wasn’t certain how to say it. How he hadn’t found it satisfying at all when the moment ended to have snapped at Hank like that.

Before either of them could speak, Sumo barked from the kitchen.  
Both of them looked at the dog and Connor felt a small relief at the distraction.

“No need to get loud, Sumo, I hear ya,” Hank called to him. He didn’t spare Connor another glance before walking out to the kitchen to fill Sumo’s bowl.  
Connor watched intently. Much like last night, he felt a little burst of warmth from watching the familiarity between dog and owner. The way Sumo would nudge at Hank to hurry him along, Hank’s playful complaints, and the little pat on Sumo’s back as the dog dug into his breakfast  
When Hank stood up, he noticed Connor staring and tilted his head. Connor wanted to look away but instead nodded his head in acknowledgment.

“Good morning, Lieutenant. You’re up early.”

“Thanks, Captain Obvious,” Hank rolled his eyes. He sat back down at the table.  
“Since Fowler gave me the day off yesterday to get you taken care of, I still need to file a damage report. Figured I might as well get it done early.”

Hank raised an eyebrow at Connor, like a challenge.

“What, surprised?”  
“A little,” Connor admitted.

Hank took a long sip of his coffee. “I’d rather go in and get this shit done early than risk missing lunch. Not that you’d know what it’s like to work on an empty stomach.”

The little jabs are still there, but today they feel...softer somehow.  
It was a great contrast to the reignition of anger Connor had expected. The corner ofhis mouth quirked up a little.

“No, I suppose I wouldn’t.”

He allows himself to relax as Hank turns on the TV, watching the morning news.  
Connor watches as well, even though he could simply run a search for world events in his mind much faster. The weather predicted colder weather coming up as winter began to dig in its heels. He’d never seen snow or ice in person before and idly wondered what it was like.  
There was a short update about tensions with Russia, an interview with some author Connor didn’t care much for, and a few other things.

All in all, rather boring. Was local news always that way?  
At around a quarter to 10, Hank stood up. “Alright, I’m gonna get going.”

Connor turned to look at him again. “Did you eat breakfast?”

“Coffee’s fine,” Hank shrugged. “I’m not really hungry this early.”

Connor hesitated, then raised his chin a bit.  
“Will you at least eat something at the station? Your blood sugar could get low before lunch.”

Hank looked at him incredulously, then rolled his eyes again. “Fine, whatever, I’ll get a snack from the vending machine later. Happy?”

Connor smiled and nodded.  
The atmosphere was nice but very confusing. Any other time that he and Hank had exchanged heated words, Hank’s anger had boiled into the next day at least. So why did everything feel so friendly?

He watched Hank leave with a little ache of longing in his chest.  
He wanted to go with him. He didn’t want to be stuck on this damn couch all day waiting for CyberLife to decide to help him or not.

At least he wouldn’t be completely alone. And he could move a little more, as long as he was careful. Maybe he and Sumo could watch a movie.  
  
The day passed by surprisingly quickly to Hank. Filing the damage report on Connor went pretty smoothly (though he disliked having to refer to Connor as an “it” and as property) and by the time he had finished with that, he had only  
been at his desk for an hour or so before his lunch break.

Connor’s words rang in his head as he drove to Chicken Feed. Showing concern over Hank’s wellbeing wasn’t necessarily a sign of deviancy at all. It made sense for Connor to want his partner performing well.  
Hell, that concern had been a large part of what set them at odds to begin with. He couldn’t even blame him for it, though he’d resented it in the moment. Connor’s very existence depended on a job well done.

No wonder the poor guy was so uptight.  
Hank ordered his usual, choosing to eat in his car. It had started to pour rain again and he didn’t feel like dealing with it more than needed.

He couldn’t help his thoughts drifting back to Connor. It made sense; Connor was an integral part of the case and, for better  
or for worse, Hank’s life in general now.

When he had gone to bed last night, he had been pretty frustrated. Connor had admitted to feeling pain and fear, and yet he still tried to bullshit his way around it? He had to know that neither of them were buying that.  
But because of his mood, sleep didn’t come quickly. He had considered going out and getting a drink of whiskey—just a little, just enough to make him sleep—but decided against it simply because he didn’t want to risk a second round of arguing.  
Why poke the hornets nest when it’s already buzzing?

So he laid there and stewed in it, eventually relaxing. He understood why Connor was afraid of admitting what was going on. For many androids, deviation meant death. He’d made it quite clear how worried he was about that.  
Connor lashing out had been an attempt at closing off that vulnerability. He was cutting Hank off from himself, trying to reinstate a status quo that would never be again.

There was no going back to treating someone like shit after they nearly bled out in your arms.  
And like hell Hank intended to let Connor get away with it either. Connor may have been more mild this morning than last night, but Hank was keeping an eye on him.  
When he finished his lunch, he headed back to the station. Most of the rest of the day was spent at his desk, reviewing updated files and checking for any new deviant cases. Nothing too exciting, but at least he can listen to music and be left alone.  
When his shift ended, Hank wondered if he should call CyberLife to see about the replacement part. After a moment of waffling, he shoved his phone back into his pocket. It had only been a day. Even if they did decide to make the part, it wouldn’t be ready yet.  
He listened to some heavy metal on the way home and his mind wandered again. Most of the time, Hank blasted the music if Connor was riding with him. He couldn’t tell if Connor actually liked the genre or not, but he rarely said much.  
The most he ever got out of him was a mild scolding that loud music could damage his hearing. Hank snorted at the thought. If a youth of metal concerts hadn’t killed his hearing yet, he figured not much could at this point.  
As he pulled in the drive, Hank crossed his fingers that Connor would be in a tolerable mood. Just because the day hadn’t been overly stressful didn’t mean he felt like dealing with a pissy android.

When he opened the door, the sight he was greeted with surprised him.  
The living room and kitchen were much tidier than they had been this morning. There were cleaned dishes drying next to the sink, the clutter on the kitchen table was organized, the blinds were open, even Sumo’s muddy paw prints from last night were cleaned.  
And sprawled out on the couch was a “sleeping” Connor, one arm tucked behind his head and his legs stretched out. Sumo was laying between his legs with his head draped over Connor’s stomach.

Hank closed the door behind him, trying to keep it quiet.

Still, Connor’s eyes  
opened a little. He blinked at Hank and smiled faintly.

“Welcome back, Hank.”

  
Connor was tired, but in a more comfortable way than yesterday. Less like fatigue and more of a satisfied feeling after a job well done. Cleaning had been a delicate affair since movement made the tubes tug and shift. He would have liked to do more, but he understood the  
bathroom and bedroom would be more private areas. It wasn’t hiss place to go there without permission.

“What’s all this?” Hank asked, gesturing.

Connor shrugged one shoulder. “I got bored.”

“You couldn’t watch TV or something?”

“I did,” Connor replied.  
“Sumo and I watched a movie. But that only lasted until noon. I don’t like laying around with nothing to do,” he added with a hint of a pout. “I’m meant to be working constantly.”

Hank looked torn and sat in his chair. “Well maybe you need to learn to relax.”  
Connor tilted his head. “I’m not human, I don’t have the same limitations you do.”

“Breaks are good for everyone,” Hank retorted. “Just because you don’t need something doesn’t mean you can’t want it.”

Connor looked down at Sumo still soundly sleeping on him.  
He had a good point, as much as Connor didn’t like to admit it. He didn’t require this giant dog to lay with him, but he wanted it.

“I suppose you have a point,” Connor conceded. He looked at Hank with a raised eyebrow.  
“You’re supposed to be resting anyway, you could have hurt yourself.”

“This is a funny way to thank me,” Connor replied, teasibg a bit. “And after I alphabetized your records, too.”

“You did?”

“Yes.”

Hank rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m not trying to sound ungrateful.  
I just don’t think it’s a good idea to be doing that stuff yet.”

Connor looked back down at Sumo, scratching his ears. The sleepy dog’s head lolled with a little snore. “Being still left me too much time to think,” he admitted softly. “I didn’t like not having an objective.  
I couldn’t work on the case from here, so I did what I could.”

He decided to leave out that his thoughts had gone spiraling in the first place because he was still worried about CyberLife viewing his memories and what they may do about it.  
Connor watched Hank look around the house, taking note of Connor’s work. “You didn’t go in my room, did you?”

Connor shook his head. “Of course not. I wouldn’t go in there without your permission.”

Hank gave a little nod. “Thanks.”  
There was a silence, but it wasn’t entirely uncomfortable. Connor figured that was a step up from yesterday. He cleared his throat and met Hank’s eyes.

“I apologize for my behavior yesterday,” he said quietly. “My reactions weren’t entirely rational. There was nothing to gain  
by acting that way towards you.”

Hank gestured dismissively. “Eh, it’s fine. You had a lot goin’ on.”

“It isn’t fine,” Connor insisted. “You said yesterday that partners should watch each other’s backs, and you aren’t the only one who’s been bad at it.”  
Sumo lifted his head with a yawn, woken up by their voices, and slid off the couch to go eat.

Connor drew his legs up closer.

“Simply put, whatever your reasoning, you’ve been very generous to take on the burden of caring for me. And I think it would be best for our  
partnership if I showed you the same consideration.”

Hank was giving him a look that Connor had come to recognize early on. He was taking in what Connor said and searching for sincerity.

“Sounds reasonable enough,” Hank replied, the hint of a smile on his lips.  
Connor felt the tight knot in his chest loosen just a little bit seeing it.

“Good. So...partners?”

“Partners.”  
Connor nodded slightly in acknowledgment, smiling to himself. It was...nice, not feeling at odds with each other. He wanted Hank to stop acting like he was a deviant, and while he was sure this would only encourage him to push more, all-in-all it would be a smoother partnership.  
And the two of them gelling was integral to this mission going well. He respected Hank, and that was always part of why he got so fed up with his attitude. It was hard to see the man he used to be under the thorns he’d wrapped himself in.  
But now and then, Connor saw that glimmer of Hank’s true self gleaming in the light. The side of him that was disgusted by Connor shooting an android in cold blood, then turned around and brought Connor into his own home. The side of him that promised to keep Connor safe  
when he had no real reason to.

So it was good that they could come to a sort of peace for now.

“I take it you’re feeling better then?” Hank asked.

“Yes, quite a bit.”

“How did you manage to do all that shit stuck to that machine?” Hank gestured to the filter.  
“With some difficulty,” Connor admitted. “I can carry it easily enough, but the area the tubes are connected to are sensitive. I could feel every little pull.”

Hank winced. “I’ve been there. Had to get my appendix taken out ages ago. You never notice how much  
your stomach moves until you’re stitched up.”

Connor did a mental image search for what stitched wounds looked like. “Interesting...I knew humans could get organs transplanted, but I didn’t realize there were ones you could live without.”  
“Tonsils are another one,” Hank replied, pointing to his throat. “Got ‘em out as a kid. My parents let me have a bowl of ice cream to help my sire throat.”

Connor peered at him. “What flavor?”

“Rocky Road,” Hank sighed wistfully. “Doctors don’t do the surgery much anymore,  
if I remember right.”

Connor had no idea what a rocky road would be with ice cream so he looked that up too. Chocolate ice cream with nuts and marshmallow? He made a mental note — Hank Likes Rocky Road.

  
Connor was not looking forward to going back to the CyberLife store, and he could tell from Hank’s uneasy body language that his partner wasn’t thrilled either. The one good thing, he thought to himself, would be getting rid of the outer filtration unit.  
He was thoroughly sick of having to take it easy and having limited mobility. He was especially sick of being benched while seeing hell break loose on the news.

Deviant androids were banding together even more than before, and when Connor last spoke to Amanda, she was  
unimpressed at his progress. So was he.

And so even though he dreaded laying on the table completely exposed and at their mercy again, Connor knew the trade-off was worth it. He would be back on the case and he /would/ succeed. There was no other option.  
There was also a knot of uncertainty in Connor’s gut. Whatever Hank’s motivation had been for taking Connor in, once he was fixed up, there would be no real reason to stay. He didn’t like that.

It had only been a few days, but Hank’s home had become a familiar place.  
He felt secure there, for the most part. Hank and Sumo’s company had made the past few days much more bearable than if he’d been left alone in his impotence.

Sumo especially had barely left his side. Hank had even jokingly called him a traitor once.  
He knew that once he was fixed, they would still be partners. But he found himself craving that comfortable connection. Connor had gotten a taste of it a couple times, but he always seemed to spoil it.

And sure, they still pissed each other off now and then. But it didn’t  
have the same venom behind it anymore. An understanding had been reached between them, and he was afraid to lose it again. He didn’t want to go back to being all business with Hank.

He didn’t want to be alone again.  
But he was unwilling to pose the question himself in case the answer was “Get out of my house, you plastic prick” or something to that effect. He hated himself a small bit for fearing an answer when his entire job was pursuing them.  
As Hank parked the car at CyberLife, Connor felt his posture stiffen. It would be nice if there were some other way. There were, of course, some back alley techs that could repair most models. But Connor wasn’t most models. Also, it was illegal, but  
if Hank could look the other way on some illegal gambling, maybe Connor could do the same. If it had been an option.

Hank must have noticed the way Connor’s shoulders were squared up because he turned to look at him after he turned the car off.

“You okay?”  
Connor glanced at him. “Of course. It was just a bit of a rough ride with the filter.”

Hank nodded in sympathy. “Alright. Well, let’s get in then. The sooner we get in, the sooner we get out.”

Connor definitely liked the sound of that.  
Connor paid much more attention going into the building now than he had before. A few days ago, his vision had been glitching and obscured by warnings. Now, he was quite alert.

The lobby was very white, obnoxiously so in Connor’s opinion. He thought it must be awfully  
inconvenient to keep everything so pristine, especially the floors. He was used to CyberLife’s minimalism but if he were to have an opinion, he would take the lived in feeling of Hank’s home over white floors any day.  
“I’ll check in,” Connor said, sounding more calm than he felt. Hank nodded and took a seat in the lobby as Connor walked to the front desk.

The android receptionist smiled pleasantly at him. “Hello.”

“Hello,” Connor replied. “My name is Connor. I’m here for a  
procedure to repair my filtration system.”

The receptionist tilted her head slightly, turning to her computer. “Is your owner here, Connor?”

If Connor could have flushed, he would have. He knew that technically speaking, CyberLife owned him, but the way it was phrased  
bothered him. No one person /owned/ him.

Repressing a sigh, Connor looked over his shoulder. “Lieutenant?”

Hank quickly got to his feet and walked over. “Yeah? What’s up?”

“She wanted to know if my owner was here,” he replied coolly.  
“I think as a representative of the DPD, you are the closest to that I have.”

Hank seemed surprised (and maybe a little angry if the way his pulse ticked up was any indication) and cleared his throat.

“Ah, yeah, Hank Anderson,” he said to the receptionist.  
“One moment, please.” The android searched through the appointments and her smile brightened when she found Hank’s name. “Here we are. RK800, filtration system repair.”

Connor frowned a little in annoyance. Being around Hank must have spoiled him a bit to bothered by being  
ignored in favor of a human.

“Connor, you will need to walk through that set of doors over here,” she gestured to the left, “and the third door to your right. A technician will be with you shortly.”

Connor thanked her and looked to Hank.  
Hank patted his shoulder firmly. “I’ll be out here if you need anything, alright?”

Connor lifted his chin to appear confident. “Thank you, though there should be no need.”

Hank shrugged one shoulder with a little smile. “Yeah well, better safe than sorry, ya know?”  
Connor felt a swell of emotion and he wondered if it showed in his expression. He had doubted Hank’s sincerity at the start of this mess, but he could see the honesty in Hank’s eyes. He nodded slightly, offering a smile and patting Hank’s hand on his shoulder.  
“Thank you,” he replied quietly. “I appreciate it.”

Hank glanced at Connor’s hand just before Connor pulled his hand away, patting his shoulder once more. He walked back to the chair he’d been seated in.

Before he could think too much about it, Connor walked through the doors.  
  
Hank had never liked waiting around much. It wasn’t so much that he was impatient, he just disliked waiting to see if things would be okay or not. Once he had an answer, he could go forward. But the suspense of waiting...no.  
The receptionist told him the procedure may take over an hour and it was tempting to run out to grab a bite. But he had told Connor he would stay out here, and he had no interest in risking damage to the delicate balance they had going.  
So he waited. Flipped through magazines idly (celebrity gossip wasn’t his thing but it passed the time), fiddled with his phone, tapped his foot. It felt like ages before Connor finally walked out.

He looked as good as new, so much so that he glanced at Connor’s  
serial number to make sure it was still him.

“Hello, Lieutenant.”

“Hey. How are you feeling?”

“Good,” he smiled. “Do we need to arrange payment?”

Hank shook his head. “Nah, already forwarded the bill to the DPD. Let’s go, I’m overdue for lunch.”  
Connor nodded and followed Hank outside. However, once they were in the car, Connor’s demeanor shifted a little. He suddenly seemed tired and maybe a little anxious. Hank frowned in concern.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“They checked my memories again.” Connor’s voice  
had that distant quality to it again, like he didn’t quite know if he was speaking aloud or not. “I don’t know why they keep checking. I don’t like it.”

Hank glanced at the CyberLife building, then back to Connor. “How do you know?”

Connor turned to Hank and the  
look on his face made his heart ache. The poor bastard looked scared and confused. It was muted but still obvious enough. “I could hear them mention Sumo, from a memory when I hugged him. They were discussing how deviants have a tendency to be fond of animals.”  
Hank remembered the pigeon-filled apartment they’d raided before. An experience he would prefer not to repeat.

“Wait, so do they think you’re deviant?”

Connor’s gaze drifted down and he swallowed. “I don’t know...If they did, I can’t imagine why they let me go.  
I can’t make sense of it. I don’t know why they were looking to begin with. Before, it was to see what happened to me, but this time was a follow-up repair.”

Connor’s brow was furrowed and he was fidgeting with his cuffs.  
“Well...If they let you go, it’s at least not a problem right now, right?” He spoke gently, hoping to reassure the stressed android. “It doesn’t do any good to worry about what if’s.”

Connor glanced at him, incredulous. “My entire job is finding answers, Hank.”  
Hank rolled his eyes. “Well you’re not on the clock right now, Robo-Cop. And this ain’t a mystery you can solve right now. Just...try to take it easy. The important thing is you’re okay.”

He watched Connor slowly take his coin out of his pocket and run it over his knuckles.  
“...I don’t like it,” Connor repeated softly.

“I know. I don’t either.”  
Hank kept stealing glances at Connor as he drove to Chicken Feed. The android was sitting with his temple touching the window. Judging by the slight yellow glow on the window, Hank assumed he was deep in thought and left him be.  
It did seem odd, what CyberLife did. He didn’t know much about android maintenance, but if it bothered Connor then he figured it must not be the norm. Hecubderstood Connor’s suspicion, at least on a surface level. He was already on edge about the idea of  
being mistaken for deviant by CyberLife, fearing it would mean his end. But if the technicians saw potential proof of deviancy, why weren’t they investigating further? He doubted Connor was wrong in his assumption that deviancy would result in his destruction, considering  
how other deviants were being treated. He wondered with a sinking feeling if CyberLife intended to use Connor as a guinea pig in all of this. A mission within a mission, to see if he /could/ become deviant.  
/If/ that was the case, though, he couldn’t imagine why they would have drilled it into Connor’s head that it would be such a bad thing. Was it just about testing his resistance...?  
The thought left an uneasy feeling in his spine as they pulled up to Chicken Feed.  
  
Connor was grateful for the distraction of a meal. Granted, he couldn’t eat, but it did allow a chunk of time where he and Hank could talk.

“So, Connor,” Hank said between bites of his burger, “excited to be going back to work?”  
“In a way,” Connor replied, leaning against the table on his arms. “I’m not sure that excited is the right word, but it’s nice to be back to what I was made for.”

Hank chuckled. Connor rarely heard the man laugh, so each time surprised him.  
“Ya know, most of the time when people say that, they don’t mean it literally.”

Connor raised an eyebrow. “I’m not a person, Hank.”

“Sure, sure,” Hank shook his head with a smile. “Sorry, I wouldn’t want to offend the supercomputer.”  
Connor huffed quietly. “I wasn’t offended.”

“Sure sounded like it,” Hank replied lightly.

“Then you heard wrong,” Connor said, matching Hank’s airy tone.

“Damn, I guess all that heavy metal really did fuck me over.”

To both of their surprise, a small, low laugh  
fluttered out of Connor.

Connor froze when he heard himself, not even looking up to see Hank’s reaction. He had begun to resent those small, uncontrolled moments. They happened more and more these days.  
“You should laugh more often,” Hank finally said. “Makes you seem more approachable.”

Connor looked up at him. His expression was fond, the teasing tone mostly gone from his voice.  
“You know, that is actually something in my social relations program. Smiling when speaking, laughter, things like that.”

“So why are you always such a tightass?” Hank punctuated his question with a loud sip of his soda.  
Ah, the teasing was back.

Connor shrugged. “Simply put, I realized that those kinds of actions actually were counterproductive. I may be an advanced model, but I’m still a prototype. I made people uncomfortable when I tried to access those actions.”  
Hank stared at him skeptically. “So basically, you’re shitty at actually looking happy?”

Connor frowned and looked away, _definitely_ not pouting. “Bad at looking convincing, yes. In humans, joy causes spontaneous reactions. That’s very hard to replicate in a machine.  
There’s a good reason that you rarely see androids smiling, with the exception of androids meant to be caretakers. We can perform those actions, but some find it off-putting.”  
“Well, I haven’t really seen you look happy much, so maybe that’s true.” Hank tossed his burger wrapper in the trash and gestured for Connor to follow him to the car. “But the couple of times I’ve seen you laugh, it seemed okay.”  
Connor cocked his head. “It did?”

“Yeah. For a Robo-Cop, at least.”  
Connor sighed, but he wasn’t that bothered by the nickname. It had been irritating the first time Hank had pulled it out, but after actually looking into the movie it came from, he found he kind of liked it. He knew Hank never meant it as an insult. If anyone else  
had said it, he wouldn’t be happy about it at all.

  
The two had barely stepped into the bullpen before Fowler called for them. Hank groaned in annoyance, but Connor was a little excited. Finally, back to doing his job.  
Connor let Hank walk into the captain’s office first, closing the door quietly behind them.

“Good afternoon, Captain,” Connor said pleasantly. Fowler acknowledged him with a nod before turning his attention to Hank.  
“What is it, Jeffrey?” Hank asked, shoving his hands in his coat pockets.

“There was an incident at Stratford tower,” Fowler replied, turning to his computer to check the details. “Deviants hijacked the tower and broadcast a message. People saw it all over the city.”  
Connor was surprised they had missed the broadcast, but Chicken Feed certainly was more tucked away from the busier parts of the city.

“What was the message?” Connor asked.

“Bunch of outrageous demands,” Fowler replied gruffly.  
“It said they’re a new, intelligent species, demanded equal rights for androids and to be seen as living by humans...” Fowler sighed and turned to Hank again to speak. Connor ignored the twinge of irritation at the silent dismissal.  
“Look, Hank, we need you and the RK800 to go to Stratford. The feds are gonna stick their noses in it if they haven’t already, and the city’s gonna be freaking out. We need to keep the panic as contained as possible.”

Connor didn’t dare steal a glance at  
Hank, unsure if he wanted to see his partner’s reaction to this new information. He wasn’t even sure how he felt about it himself.

Hank gave an exaggerated sigh. “God, Jeff...”

“Don’t start, Hank,” Fowler snapped. “I’ve got enough shit on my plate right now. Just please  
go do your job.”

“Yeah, yeah, we’re going. Come on, Connor.”

Hank turned to leave and Connor followed. He hesitated for a moment in the doorway as his social programming said he should say something before leaving. But he still remembered how Fowler ignored him last  
time, so he silently pushed past it as he left.  
  
  
Stratford Tower was an impressive building. Everything had an immaculate appearance, but it wasn’t the bleached out white that CyberLife favored. The black and yellow gave everything a warmer vibe.

Professional but not suffocating.  
Still, Connor felt anxious. The deviant rebels were escalating quickly with this move. No one had been killed, but that seemed like the only bit of good news. The radio tower had still been hijacked, most likely by a group, and managed a few minutes on air.  
That left a few implications, the most troubling one being the question of how they had managed to get in. Slipping past the humans was one thing, but the android staff? There had to have been a deviant on the inside. Maybe several.  
Connor idly performed his preferred coin tricks in the elevator, watching the numbers go up as he and Hank waited to get to the top floor. He was tense with anticipation and at least flicking the coin around offered a little relief to that.  
Hank suddenly reached over and snatched Connor’s coin from the air. “You’re starting to piss me off with that coin,” he grumbled.

Hank had been in a bit of a sour mood since talking to Fowler. Connor suspected it had something to do with having to deal with the FBI.  
Connor didn’t have much personal experience with it, but he knew that there could be tensions between the police and feds. It would be interesting to see that dynamic for himself.

“Sorry, Lieutenant,” Connor replied mildly, straightening his posture.  
When the elevator doors slid open, Officer Miller was there to greet them. Well, to greet Hank, more accurately. There were other officers in the hallway, as well as some FBI agents and what Connor assumed were news reporters. It seemed as if Fowler's desire to keep this  
relatively contained was already pointless.

Connor followed behind Miller and Hank, listening to Miller brief them on what they knew so far. Four androids, well-organized. Miller reiterated that no one was badly hurt.

"How many people were working here?" Hank asked.  
"Just the two employees and three androids," Miller explained. "The deviants took the humans hostage and broadcast their message, then made their getaway on the roof."

"Has the roof been investigated yet?" Connor asked.

Miller seemed surprised that Connor addressed him, but  
not unpleasantly so. "There's a few people up there right now but I haven't heard any reports yet."

Connor nodded in acknowledgment, letting Miller return to briefing Hank.

"That screen over there has the video broadcast," Miller said, pointing to a huge screen in the middle  
of the room.

"Thank you," Connor replied, following behind Hank into the broadcast room. He did like Officer Miller. Of anybody at the DPD, he had been the most amiable towards Connor from the start. He didn't treat him quite like an equal, but he didn't expect anyone to.  
It was still better than being talked over or ignored, which was how many other officers treated him.

When they walked into the room, there was a man with his hands behind his back staring up at the still image of the android Connor assumed was the leader of the group.  
"Oh, Lieutenant, this is Special Agent Perkins from the FBI," Miller gestured to the hook-nosed man. Perkins turned his attention to Hank. "Lieutenant Anderson is in charge of investigating for Detroit Police."

Connor knew before the man even spoke that he didn't care for him.  
There was something particularly cold about him that went beyond focus.

Perkins glanced him over. "What's that?" he asked flatly. Connor fought himself not to react.

"My name is Connor," he replied. "I'm the android sent by CyberLife."  
Perkins almost looked amused, but the light didn't reach his eyes. "Androids investigating androids, huh?" He turned his focus back to Hank.

"Yeah, it's almost like humans investigating humans," Hank replied dryly. "Crazy world, isn't it?"

"You sure you want an android  
hanging around...?" Perkins's eyes flicked to Connor and back to Hank. "After everything that happened?" Perkins raised his brow.

They both knew what Perkins was referring to. Connor had seen Hank's history, he knew what happened to his son.  
He decided that not only did he not care for the man, he didn't even want to deal with him. Even he knew how callous it was to bring up a trauma like that.

To Hank's credit, he didn't rise to the bait. He just gave Perkins a slightly incredulous look, daring him to say more.  
"Whatever," Perkins shrugged. "The FBI will take over the investigation, you'll soon be off the case--"

Hank cut the man off with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Pleasure meeting you," he responded. "Have a nice day."  
"And you watch your step," Perkins added. Connor's eyes narrowed and Hank turned back to look at the agent. "Don't fuck up my crime scene."

The two of them watched him leave, and just as Connor thought to make a remark, he heard Hank speak. "What a fuckin' prick."  
He had no intention of voicing it, but Connor agreed with his partner's assessment. If Perkins was any indication of how the other FBI agents acted, he could see why there was so much friction between the groups.  
Chris looked at them apologetically and let them know he'd be around if they had any questions before walking over to another group of officers.

Frankly, at this point, Connor was just grateful that he had yet to see Gavin around. The last thing he needed on his first  
day back was that grating man.

Connor turned his attention back to what they came there for. A quick scan of the room showed bullet holes and some splattered thirium on one of the walls. It was frustrating in a way to know that this had happened so recently, and yet  
the group seemed to have vanished without a trace. According to Miller, the deviants had jumped from the roof with parachutes and the weather was making it harder to track where they had landed. Connor gave due credit to the group, it was a clever thought.  
But ambiguity was not what he was made for. He had heard a few officers at the DPD jokingly call him a bloodhound for the way he tracked (a nickname he had been doubly amused by when he saw that his own name meant "lover of hounds") and he had earned it.  
If there was any trail to sniff out, he intended to find it.

Connor investigated the bullet holes carefully, calculating the caliber of the weapon as well as the trajectory. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure that Hank wasn't looking before swiping some still-wet  
thirium on his fingertip and touching it to his tongue. It came from a PL600 that had apparently been reported missing a couple years ago. An impressive feat to have escaped notice for that long. It only strengthened his theory that they must have somewhere they're holing away.  
The thirium smears along the wall up towards the stairs that lead to the roof. Connor's eyes narrowed in thought and he rubbed his chin. There would certainly be more evidence up there...

But first, he wanted to see what this message was that had everyone in a panic.  
So he walked over to the console, hit the play button, and took a few steps back.

The android on screen had his dermal layer removed, attempting to disguise his face. And if Connor was human, he would likely get away with it. But Connor was able to see the serial code  
branded on his cheek. That, and for some reason, the android had mismatched eyes.

"We ask that you recognize our dignity, our hopes, and our rights," he android spoke calmly. "Together, we can live in peace and build a better future for humans and androids.  
This message is the hope of a people. You gave us life, and now the time has come for you to give us freedom."

"Think that's rA9?"

Hank spoke lowly, but Connor was still startled. He had been so intent that he didn't even notice his partner walk up to him.  
Connor looked back at the screen, frowning. "Deviants say that rA9 will set them free," he said softly, "and this android seems to have that objective." It was a bit of a non-answer and Connor knew it. He just didn't really know what he believed at this point.  
Was rA9 meant to be a person? A concept? It was hard to say. He and Hank had discussed it briefly before, but that conversation at the park had not ended so well. At least he knew that no one was going to pull a gun on him here.  
When Hank didn't reply, Connor took the pause as an opportunity to properly scan the android's face.

The serial number showed him to be...RK200? Connor's brow furrowed. He knew there were other RK800s considering that he had been destroyed twice now. But he had never heard of  
any others in the RK line, especially other prototypes like Connor. A pit of unease settled in his stomach, though he couldn't put a pin on why.

It turned out the eyes were different because one eye, the blue one, did not come with the model. At some point,  
he must have been damaged. Had his owner tried to take him in for repairs and been denied an accurate replacement? He supposed an eye was easier to adjust from a different model than something like a filter.

The android was registered under the name Markus and belonged to  
a Carl Manfred. Connor ran a cross-reference on the name. Ah, a wealthy painter. It surprised him that, if Manfred was so well-off, why didn't CyberLife try to appease him with a replacement eye that at least matched? Maybe he just hadn't cared enough.  
Hell, as a painter, perhaps he even enjoyed the asymmetry of it.

"Do you see something?" Hank asked. Connor snapped himself out of the scans, but kept his eyes fixed on Markus's. He was reluctant to tell Hank all of the information...what would it say about himself if  
another android from his own line was the leader of a deviant rebellion? It shouldn't say anything, really, but he knew that humans easily associated people and actions together. He did not want to be lumped in with this movement.

And there was no way he was going to  
voice that he thought Markus's message sounded...less awful than it should to him.

"I identified the model and serial number..." he finally said. He could see in his peripheral vision that Hank was scrutinizing him.

"Anything else I should know?"  
Connor's jaw tightened with the desire to keep his feelings about all of this quiet. He looked over at Hank, then away again. "No," he replied. He knew he sounded defensive and mentally kicked himself. "Nothing."

Guilty, guilty, guilty.  
He knew Hank wasn't a fool, and he certainly could read body language. Connor kept his focus back on the screen to avoid Hank's gaze, but he could see in his periphery that Hank's doubt was clear as day. Still, he let the matter drop and Connor exhaled slowly as he walked away.  
  
He reviewed the footage once more, listening intently with his arms folded. Was this Markus really naive enough to believe that he could change people's minds on what was and wasn't sentient? Animals were closer to being alive than they were, and humans ate those every day.  
From his own experience, it wasn't too farfetched for a human to project emotions onto them, but that still wasn't the same as being considered alive, let alone equal.

Nevertheless, he could see why this one was chosen as the leader. His voice was warm, soft-spoken yet firm.  
He was confident without being abrasive. Calm, almost soothing. Connor found himself wondering if Markus was made to be unassuming for the same reason that Connor was: to be underestimated.  
Once he was confident he had gotten all of the info that he needed from the broadcast room, he returned to Hank.

"What do you think?" Hank asked him.

"I think we need to check the roof. At least one of them was injured, so their escape was likely rushed," he explained.  
"They may have left some important evidence behind."

Hank made a thoughtful noise. "Did you wanna talk to the androids that were working the room?"

Connor shook his head. "I'd like to assess the rooftop first, especially with the weather. I don't want us to lose any clues."  
Hank nodded. "Alright then, lead the way."  
(just a short update for now since I'm not feeling great. I'll hopefully have more later!)  
  
The weather certainly was an impediment on the investigation. It had snowed today, but since it had just been raining a couple days ago, the snow was borderline slushy. There were no useful prints to be found.  
CSI had already been up there and there were a few crime scene tags on what evidence had been found. Connor crouched down to inspect the large, black duffel bag and heard Hank speak behind him.

"They made their way through the whole building, past all the guards, and jumped off  
the roof with parachutes..." Hank whistled lowly. "Pretty fuckin' impressive, I'd say."

It was impressive, Connor begrudgingly admitted to himself. So many things had to go perfectly right for their plan to have worked, and they hadn't even hit a hitch until the very end.  
Even with that, they escaped. Except...there was one parachute left in the bag. Connor's head lilted in thought. Hank stood behind him, arms crossed.

"How'd they manage to sneak in a big bag like that?" he asked.

"They didn't," Connor replied.  
"Somebody brought it in for them."

"So you think they definitely had inside help?"

Connor nodded. "They must have. Nothing else makes sense. We'll have to interview the station androids in the kitchen later, they might know something."  
He noticed the duffel bag had one parachute still inside and looked up, pre-constructing what their escape might have looked like. If there was an extra parachute and blue blood on the scene, maybe the injured android was left behind.  
He stood up and walked to the railing, placing his hands on the rail and leaning over as he tried to pre-construct again. But the visualization was interrupted sharply by remembering when he fell off the rooftop at his interrogation mission.  
A cold fear jolted him and Connor flinched away from the railing as if it had shocked him. He glanced around subtly to make sure no one had been paying attention to him, then took a deep breath and exhaled. Strange...that had never happened before.  
He reflexively fidgeted with his tie before returning to the crime scene, far away from the railing.

It was when he was walking back towards another evidence tag that he noticed another spatter of blue blood. Why it wasn't marked as evidence was beyond him. It was fresh enough and the snow kept it wetter so the excuse of evaporation wasn't a valid one in his opinion.  
He knelt down to observe it, taking a quick sample again. As he thought, the thirium belonged to the samePL600 that had been injured in the broadcast room. The shape of the stain looked less like an active wound and more like simple bleeding.  
Similar to the kind of smear that Connor had left on that dumpster when he had been bleeding out a few days ago.

For such a leak, there wasn't a drop of it leading from that spot to the railing. /They must have left it behind./  
Connor glanced around for Hank and saw the man talking to a few other officers, probably gathering info on what they had found so far. Connor didn't really feel the need to converse with them. He had found a trail and he intended to follow it.  
He saw a few other splotches of thirium, the shape and spatter indicating that it was dripped. With a satisfying click in his mind, Connor realized that the PL600 was likely still somewhere here on the roof. And there weren't very many places it could hide away.  
He followed the trail silently, stopping at an air cooling unit. He tilted his head thoughtfully, checking for any other thirium traces. The trail ended here.

When he opened the door, he expected the cowering android inside. What Connor hadn’t expected was the nearly  
point-blank gunshot to his shoulder.

The force if it knocked him flat on his ass and he tried to scramble back with his uninjured arm.

He heard one of the officers yell to take cover, and just like that, gunshots rang in the air.  
Connor didn’t have much time to think about the pain in his shoulder before Hank was hoisting him to his feet and dragging him out of open fire.

It did not escape Connor’s notice that Hank had risked his own safety to do so. Hank would likely have dismissed it,  
said he would have done it for any partner. But Hank may miss how much Connor appreciated the implied equality. Connor truly was no longer an annoying robot to Hank.

They were partners.  
As the two took cover behind another unit, Connor forced his thiughts back to the present.

“You have to stop them!” Connor raised his voice over the noise. “If they destroy it, we won’t learn anything.”  
“We can’t save it, it’s too late!” Hank responded, glaring a warning at Connor. “We’d just get ourselves killed.”

Connor felt antsy, coiled with emergy and ready to pounce but hesitating. He absolutely didn’t want to further jeopardize Hank’s safety, or that of the  
other officers. But at the same time, this was the closest connection they’d gotten to the rebel group so far.

“Sorry,” Connor said quickly before leaping out of cover. Hank may have said something, Connor wasn’t sure. His entire focus was on getting to the PL600.  
Using his pre-constructions, he was able to just narrowly avoid the bullets flying his way. As he closed in on the blonde android, he saw him crouch as if meaning to bolt. So Connor vaulted himself over the top of the unit between them and slammed the android’s arm  
against the unit to keep him from moving.

He hadn’t fully intended to synchronize with him. Flashes of memories and feelings flooded Connor’s senses. It was overwhelming and intense. He could feel the joy, the oain, the places—  
And just like that, it was cut off by the PL600 putting a bullet in his head.  
Connor recoiled from the android — Simon, he now knew— and released his now limp wrist. Part of him wanted to touch his jaw to be sure he wasn’t the one who actually was shot, but he could barely move. He stumbled back and braced himself against the unit he’d leapt over.  
Tremors ran through his arms and legs as he stared at Simon’s crumpled form. He couldn’t look away as thirium began to pool beneath him.

Connor swallowed hard.

“Connor!” Hank’s voice sounded distant and it took a concentrated effort to focus in on what was being said.  
“Are you alright?” Connor tried to look away from Simon, to turn and answer Hank, but he was still frozen. “Connor!”

Finally, Hank’s sharp, urgent tone reached him.

“Okay...” It came out mumbled, and Connor would have been upset with himself for his difficulty in speaking if  
he wasn’t still feeling an echo of the gunshot in his mind.

“Are you hurt?” Hank pressed.

“I’m okay,” Connor replied, speaking more clearly though his voice trembled.

He still couldn’t bring himself to look away. He had born witness to Simon’s last thoughts and emotions.  
He recalled flashes of Markus, accompanied by a sharp melancholy he’d never felt before. Simon had been left behind, knew his likely fate, and had watched them go. He had known he would probably never see them again. And now, Connor had made that a reality.  
“Jesus,” he heard Hank sighed raggedly. “You scared the shit outta me...”

Connor turned his head slightly at that. Hank had been afraid...?

“For fuck’s sake, I told you not to move!” Hank yelled, his voice still rough with adrenaline.  
“Why do you never do what I say?”

Connor forced himself to look away, but he could still see Simon in his peripheral vision. “I was connected to its memory...” he managed. His own voice sounded hollow to him.  
“When it fired, I felt it die...” Connor swallowed again, looking at Hank. “Like I was dying...” He finally met Hank’s eyes and saw the man’s expression was of cautious curiosity. Connor felt a pit in his stomach as he recognized the emotion he felt the strongest.  
“I was scared...”

Connor took a deep breath, trying to focus himself. Emotions hadn’t bern the only thing he had gotten from the connection, after all. He remembered seeing the word JERICHO painted on rusty metal. That had to be important for Simon to have thought of it  
just before death. But before he could voice it, Hank’s hand was on his shoulder.

“Come on, let’s get you out of here.” His voice was gruff and quiet, similar to a few days ago when Connor had been terrified of going into the CyberLife store.  
Connor appreciated that Hank was such a genuine, caring person. He was the only person who cared more about Connor’s mental state than what information he had.

  
Connor barely spoke until they were heading to Hank's car. He pushed down the inconvenient emotions as best he could and tried to remain professional while they finished at the crime scene. He had a feeling that he accidentally came off more coldly than usual  
in his attempts to keep neutral and absolutely not dwell on the look of panic that had flashed in Simon's blue eyes as Connor had vaulted over the unit to pin him. But that wasn't really his problem, and if anyone noticed the android acting a bit more robotic than usual, no one  
thought to say anything about it. This was his job, and he wanted to do it well, especially on his first day back. He couldn't let himself fall apart.

At least not where he could be seen.  
Hank had quietly asked Connor a few times if he was okay, and each time Connor had brushed off the concern. He knew he could only let his guard down if the two of them were absolutely alone, and this was far from the time or place for it.  
But once they were in the car, the facade cracked. Connor hunched over, pressing his palms into his eyes with a shuddering sigh.

Hank barely hesitated before gently placing a hand on Connor's back and rubbing between his shoulder blades. It probably wasn't soothing in the  
same way that it was to humans, but the contact did help a little.

"You wanna talk about it?" Hank asked carefully. Connor rubbed at his eyes and shook his head.

"I don't know..."

He wanted to spill everything he was thinking and feeling, but at the same time  
that sounded like the absolute worst thing. He craved to be able to lay himself bare before someone, to trust someone like that, but he was terrified of that vulnerability still. He had to be. Just because Hank was a kind soul did not change the people around them.  
Hank tapped his steering wheel in thought. "Tell ya what. You think about it while we head home, alright? That gives you about 20 minutes to think it over." He turned to Connor, concern clear on his face. "I'm not gonna push you, but after shit like that, you really should talk  
about it."

"I'll be fine," Connor replied softly. "This isn't the first death I've witnessed."

"No, you won't," Hank retorted. "I'm not saying it because I think you're not strong. I'm saying it because I know how much repressing trauma can fuck a guy up."  
"I'm not like you," Connor muttered, a hint of venom in his tone. He looked out the window while they stopped at a red light, and he felt the small flare of irritation fade. Hank was only trying to be helpful. He was being a good partner. And Connor had promised to be better  
to Hank in turn. "...I'll think about it."  
  
Connor followed Hank into the house, hanging his CyberLife jacket up next to Hank’s coat. He straightened his tie before sitting down on the couch. He could sit anywhere he pleased now, but he found he preferred the couch because it allowed Sumo to sit with him.  
As expected, the St. Bernard hopped up on the couch next to Connor. Connor smiled softly, reaching over to scratch the dog behind his ears. “Hello, Sumo.”

Hank grabbed a drink from the fridge — Connor was happy to see it was soda, not beer— and took a seat in the chair next  
to the couch. He cracked open the can and took a long sip before he addressed Connor.

“So, do you wanna talk about it or not?”

Connor stared into Sumo’s soft brown eyes and sighed. He wrapped an arm around Sumo’s back to urge the dog to scoot closer to him.  
Once the dog’s head was rested in his lap, Connor nodded slightly. “Yes, I’ll talk.”  


Hank waited patiently for Connor to say more, but the android sat in silence staring at the floor. "Connor?"

Connor's eyes snapped up to meet Hank's before he looked away again. "Sorry. I'm just trying to decide the best way to say it."  
"Is it alright if I ask a question?" Hank asked.

"You just did."

"You know what I mean."

Connor's mouth twitched in what Hank assumed would have been a smile in a different mood.

"What did you mean when you said you felt that android die?"  
A shadow passed over Connor's face and he broke eye contact again. "...I'm not sure how to describe it. I was connected to it--"

"Like how you connected to those androids at the Eden Club?"

Connor glanced at him, seemingly irritated by the interruption. "Yes.  
Androids are able to connect to each other and see each other's memories that way. I've only ever used it when it was pertinent to my objective." He frowned and rubbed Sumo's head idly. "I didn't mean to connect to Simon. That was his name. I saw everything he was thinking  
for a second. He thought about his friends, and there was this..." Connor struggled to find the word. "This heartache...It was sharp and painful. Or maybe that was from the bullet...It was hard to tell, the sensations were overwhelming and blended together. A lot happened in  
that second."

Hank listened intently, taking in the new information. In a way he had known that Connor could view an android's memories. That was how they had found the Tracis at the Eden Club, after all. But he hadn't considered what it would be like for him to see  
the memories of a deviant, let alone during such an intense moment.

"He was so sad, Hank," Connor's voice cracked and he turned his head further away to hide his expression and LED. "He knew he was going to die. Even before we came up there.  
He knew he was dead when his friends left him behind. He thought about their leader, Markus, and it was..." He trailed off and wiped at his eyes. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize," Hank said, trying to reassure him. "Take your time."  
Sumo whined and looked up at Connor, sitting up and pushing his face past Connor's hands so he could lick his face. Connor laughed weakly, pressing his face against Sumo's cheek. It warmed Hank's heart to see the two together.

"Yes, you're a good boy," Connor said softly.  
He rubbed behind Sumo's ears as his smile faded again. "When it fired, my head hurt. It felt like a very intense pressure. I don't know how to describe it so you could understand. All I know is that it took a moment for me to realize that I was okay. I swore I could feel a hole  
in my chin." He swallowed hard and he closed his eyes. When he did, Hank could see a tear roll down Connor's cheek. He hadn't even known androids could cry.

"I killed him, Hank. He was in love and was loved and I killed him."  
"Hey now, you can't go blaming yourself for something like that," Hank said firmly. "He made his choice. You aren't responsible for that."

Connor didn't turn his head, but he opened his eyes to look at Hank. They were shining with unshed tears. "It's still my fault."  
Hank took a sip of his drink while he let the silence settle around them. "Look, you can't let yourself go down that kind of path," he spoke carefully. "Believe me. It's a slippery slope." His thoughts drifted to the accident and how Hank had absolutely blamed himself for  
Cole's death for a while. That if he had reacted quicker, if they just had left five minutes later, if if if if. It had never done any good, wallowing in the survivor's guilt.

Connor must have realized where Hank's thoughts were as well because his expression shifted  
to apologetic. "...I'm sorry, Hank."

Hank waved his hand dismissively. "It's fine. I mean, it's not /fine/, but...yeah."

Connor ran a hand through his hair and leaned back. Sumo took advantage of the opportunity and crawled further onto his lap.

"...Can I confess something, Hank?" he asked quietly. Hank looked confused but nodded.

"Yeah, go for it."  
Connor took a deep, slow breath, and decided to try to let his guard down. He looked at Hank, no longer trying to repress the sadness he felt at his core.

"I don't know what to do...I got information that we can use for the case. Simon can probably be reactivated for  
some kind of interrogation. I should be satisfied." He shifted restlessly, staring down at the panting St. Bernard in his lap. "I should feel content at a job well done. It was messier than intended, but the objectives were still completed. But instead I just feel...hollow."  
He glanced at Hank to make sure he was listening. The man was giving him that same scrutinizing look he'd given him a few days ago, after his walk with Sumo. When Connor had spontaneously laughed at the dog's antics. Connor realized now that what Hank had been looking for  
were signs of deviancy...and if Connor was aware he was showing them.

"There are errors in my software," he said lowly, as if confessing a secret. "And I know that it's only a matter of time before CyberLife reacts to them. I don't want that to happen. But...I also don't  
want to be the cause of the anguish that android felt."

"How long do you think you've been having these errors?" Hank asked. Connor frowned, looking away in shame.

"Since the beginning, actually. I gave you vague details about my first mission, when I was a negotiator.  
I told you about the mission itself and how I saved the girl, right?"

Hank nodded, raising an eyebrow.

"What I didn't tell you at the time was that I was experiencing errors even then...I saved a fish's life. The tank had been damaged and the fish had fallen out.  
I stopped before talking to any of the SWAT team, before doing any of my actual mission objectives, and gently lifted the fish and placed it back into the tank. I didn't even think much of it at the time," he admitted. "I just thought it was a shame for another life to end  
when it didn't need to. And...they do say that deviants are fond of animals." Connor stroked Sumo's head to punctuate his point.

"So...what, are you admitting that you're deviant?" Hank asked, surprised.

Connor closed his eyes and shook his head. "I don't know...I don't even  
know how I would know if I was. But I...I am willing to admit that I have been experiencing errors, including all of the emotions I have been feeling recently. Whether the fear is an error in my software or something more, all I know is that I am feeling it. Fear, sadness,  
happiness...I shouldn't feel any of it, but I do," he whispered. He swallowed and flexed his fingers in Sumo's thick fur. "It doesn't change anything, though...I still have to accomplish my mission. If I don't, CyberLife will destroy me."  
Hank seemed lost for words so Connor let the silence hang in the air. He didn’t really know what else to say.

“Simon was the same model as Daniel,” he finally said. “Daniel was my first mission.” He chuckled weakly, rubbing his forehead. “What are the odds...”  
Technically, Connor could roughly calculate the odds, but it wasn’t worth the effort. It wasn’t as if either of them cared about numbers right now.

“I just want to know what to do. I want it to be simple,” Connor frowned. “It used to be simple. But ever since seeing  
those girls at the Eden Club, it’s been gnawing at me. I’ve caused so much death. I didn’t consider it death then but I was in denial. They had life and I took it away,” he croaked. “I know what I have to do, so why do I feel confused...?”  
“Because you know it’s not right,” Hank replied softly. “That’s what makes it complicated.”

Hank finished his drink with a sigh. “I can’t tell you what to do here, kid. Usually, I’d tell someone to go with their gut, but most people aren’t threatened with execution.”  
Connor drew his knees up closer, shifting Sumo out of his lap. The dog huffed but let himself be moved.

“I’ll have to keep hunting deviants until my assignment is changed. If it ever changes. As I’m a prototype, they may deactivate me once this issue is resolved.”


End file.
